


Dreamtime

by zuzeca



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Angst, Creepy, Hatchlings, Mpreg, Multi, Sticky Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Allspark shattered, Primus finds another way to create newsparks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamtime

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic for [this kinkmeme fill](http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/3587.html?thread=4412163#t4412163), though it's more creepy than hot. I was skimming over the requests late one night, it caught my eye and before you could say "Holy robot tentacle sex, Batman!" this appeared. Be warned, this is pretty dark. I'd recommend reading the meme prompt for full potential content warnings.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Transformers_ , all characters are the property of their respective copyright holders. I am making no profit from this work of fiction.

Optimus dreamed.

This in itself was not unusual, for all the humans could not comprehend it. Any being with neural processes of sufficient complexity required a means of organizing their thoughts. And though the defragmentation and replay of memory files did not resemble the electrochemical waves produced in organic recharge, they were indeed dreams.

In the dream he walked the depths of Cybertron, the sacred places he’d only visited once before, when he was named Prime. But the metal passages were not as he remembered, darkened with filth, the strung lights shattered and dead.

He paused and placed a hand on the wall, felt the absence of vibrations as a near physical pain.

Dead planet.

Skitter and squeak in the darkness. He turned.

Twin lights blinked up at him near the floor, small and red, casting a dim rosy glow onto the outline of living features. His optics clicked, adjusted. And widened.

A tiny Cybertronian hatchling peered up at him. Little claws clicked and scraped against each other, as it cocked its head, letting out a chirp-whistle of curiosity.

He shook off his shock and crouched, lowering himself almost to the floor. The hatchling eyed him warily as his bulk loomed over it and for a moment he was reminded of Sam. Keeping his limbs in close to appear non-threatening, he clicked a greeting in the simplified proto-language of his people.

The hatchling’s optics brightened. Sound spilled from its vocalizer in a rush.

_Different-adult-very-strange-look-strange-where-come-where-come?_

_Adult comes from far away. Hatchling alone?_

The hatchling clicked a negative.

_Early-hatcher-must-wait-siblings-sleeping-still._

_Take adult to siblings?_

The hatchling chirped in agreement and scampered down the hall.

_Adult-come-adult-come!_

He straightened and followed.

 

The hatchling led him down twisting corridors, winding into the heart of Cybertron. Recollection told him they were close to the Temple of Primus, but then the passage opened out and thought ground to a halt.

Walls rose endless above him, stretching into the darkness beyond what even his sight could detect, every one lined with protoform pods. Thousands of sparks, pulsing through the still-translucent plating of the sleeping hatchlings, lit the cavern with a soft glow.

He staggered for a moment, had to brace himself on the wall. “What…I-I don’t understand, how?” his voice bounced off the walls, an eerie echo.

The hatchling gave a confused whistle and he realized he’d neglected to speak in the correct dialect. Rebooting his vocalizer, he tried again.

_Where come hatchlings?_

The hatchling gave him a puzzled look and pointed to a nearby pod. Suppressing a grunt of frustration, he tried to rephrase his question.

_Before hatching, when still sleeping, where come?_

The hatchling thought for a moment and extended a claw, directing his attention to the dark circle of a passage on the far side of the room. He headed towards the hall and paused a moment, checking to see if the hatchling would follow, but it had moved and was wriggling inside an open pod near the floor. As he watched, a slender metal tentacle extended from the side of the pod and the hatchling latched onto it, humming with satisfaction. A few drops of energon dripped from the sides of its mouth.

Turning back and stepping into the hall, his sensors immediately noted the temperature had increased and his olfactory indicators picked up the scent of heated metal and ozone.

The unmistakable scent of an overload.

He hesitated a moment, but then strode forward. Pale blue light glimmered at the end of the passage. He stepped through.

His spark turned over in his chest.

The room pulsed as if alive, thousands of tentacles writhing over and around each other. They were collected at six nexuses, wriggling over the pale lumps, _into_ them. And then a tentacle shifted and he couldn’t hold back his cry.

Blackout sagged in the metallic grip of the tentacles, limbs spread wide, head pressed back by a feeler wrapped across his optics and another shoved into his throat. He could see the gleam of energon through the seams and the gentle pulsations as it moved the nourishing liquid along.

A moan and clack of metal. Starscream hung limp, the glowing tentacles transecting his wings in an elaborate pattern. Several burrowed between his legs, wriggling and stroking, and as he watched the group convulsed as one, drawing and a spark emerged from inside of his body, casting light across the mech’s face for a moment before it was whisked away, into the mass of tentacles and vanished.

Bonecrusher swollen, pelvic plating straining as transfluid oozed from between the seams and leaked from his valve. Barricade twitching as feelers caressed and dipped inside him, stimulating sensor nodes. Flare of ozone scent as another overload was coaxed forth.

Soundwave was almost invisible beneath a woven mat of tentacles, some of them his own. He was so silent that for a moment Optimus wondered if he still lived, but then a pulse, a crackle and limbs jerked in their binding. A low atonal noise rose from him.

His hands shook. They’d never questioned the sudden absence of the Decepticons, jokingly called it a miracle of Primus, but this…

A low growl-click, a simplified warning call, jerked his attention from the horror. Another mech crouched near the entrance, tucked into a corner. The remains of a tentacle hung from its grip, leaking energon onto the floor. He could see the glow of optics, but it was peculiarly muted, soft pink rather than sharp red. Long fangs glinted in the low light.

Shaking, he reached for the command prompt for his headlights. He had to see, had to know…

Light flooded the room. The mech howled in agony and jerked away, heavy clawed hands clapping over optics ruined and blinded from disuse. A low collective moan rose from the mechs still imprisoned.

His fuel tank churned. His spark was pulsing, stuttering.

His mouth moved, spoke the name.

“Megatron!”

Optimus jerked awake, limbs flailing and thrashing as he transformed. He was dimly aware of shouting and then hands were on him, pressing him back.

“Easy, Prime,” Ratchet’s voice was low and soothing. “That must have been a hell of a dream.”

He cycled air through his intakes, trying to cool his racing systems, “Not a dream. A vision.”

Ratchet exchanged a look with Ironhide. “You sure?” he asked.

“Positive.”

“We need to worry about the ‘Cons coming down on our heads?” Ironhide said.

He shook his head.

“They’re not…” he shuddered and had to try again “I don’t think they’re a danger to anyone right now.”

Ironhide gave him a strange look, but grunted in acknowledgement, “Where to then, Prime?”

He looked out into the desert night, the glowing stars hanging suspended above the dark sand. They’d occupied this planet for over a millennium but never fully integrated, always refugees on the fringes of a race that lived and died in a handful of sparkpulses. If Primus had found a way to birth a new generation, discovered energon to feed them, then perhaps it was time to rebuild.

He wondered if it would be enough.

His spark ached at the thought of Megatron.

“Home,” he said finally, “I think it’s time we go home.” 

_I’m coming for you, brother._


End file.
